Getting the Royal Treatment
by DownstairsDaddy
Summary: After a year plus of speculation on where the DA film would take us with our dear friends, we have our answer! This Chelsie-only Fic picks up right where the film's end credits start to roll.


Spoiler alert! Scenes from the Downton Abbey film (2019 installment; here's hoping for a sequel, in a New York minute!) included below that have NOT been in trailers. You won't want to read on until you've seen the film!

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Arm-in-arm, theirs was a slow stroll home to the cottage that moonlit evening after the King and Queen's visit to Downton. Elsie could admit it had been a special honour, and she would forever be pleased with the castle's appearance and how they themselves and their downstairs charges had performed throughout. And yet, it was nothing compared to Charlie's experience. Directly serving His and Her Majesties would undoubtedly go down as the pinnacle of his decades-long, now three-part career in Service at Downton; other than the honour of meeting and eventually marrying his best friend, of course.

Charlie's first years as a pensioner had indeed proven to be that 'different life' they'd speculated about on the New Year's Eve of his sudden retirement. Tending vegetable beds or treating Miss Caroline _Charlotte_ Talbot to rides on his shoulders had become the definition of excitement in his life; absent times - especially private times - with his wife and best friend, of course.

Now with the Royal visit and his livery once again behind him, Elsie sensed when Charlie stopped at the end of the long pebbled driveway to look back that he was both satisfied yet wistful. She granted him a moment before encouraging, "Let's be on our way, Charlie."

And whilst he resumed their walk, holding her gloved hand securely in the crook of his arm with his opposite one, the remaining 10 minutes home were slower and quieter than usual. She assumed it was all emotion but no sooner had he hung their coats than Charlie admitted the last week had caught up with him physically. As adorable as she thought his legs were in his breeches and hosiery, they weren't accustomed to the endless flights of stairs as they once were. To top it off, he thought bending to lock Downton's front door earlier in the evening was the reason for the kink in his lumbar now. Would she mind terribly if he went upstairs for a soak?

"Of course not. I only ask that you wash that pomade out of your hair so I can have _my_ Charlie back." She sent him on his way with a love pat on his bottom and the promise of a hot water bottle and cuddle on the settee whenever he returned.

After removing her shoes and stockings, replacing them with her woolen slippers, Elsie started a fire. As the logs started to crackle, they masked the sounds of running water she heard in the pipes above. As the logs took, she remained, enjoying their warmth.

Elsie was on her way to the kitchen when another sound caught her attention: a knock at the door. She went to see who it was and found the young Junior Footman outside. Now what?

"Albert, what's wrong?" She asked as she opened the French doors to him, the cool air a shock to her face and bare lower legs after being so near the fire.

"Begging your pardon, Mrs. Hughes. I've a delivery from Mr. Barrow for you - and Mr. Carson." From his satchel, Albert produced a bottle of Port and an envelope with Barrow's black script that he handed to Elsie.

"That's a relief. Thank you. But you didn't need to bring this by tonight."

"Mr. Barrow insisted. He meant to catch you before you both left of the evening. He'd been in the wine cellar and missed you by only minutes."

"Well then, I thank you and Mr. Carson thanks you. Now, get yourself back on that bicycle I see there and ride straight back. I suspect there's a little bit of revelry you're missing out on standin' here with me," she winked, something she'd asked Charlie to teach her how to do since they'd married.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," the young man grinned knowingly.

Elsie found Charlie's spectacles over near his green, tall back reading chair and letter opener atop their desk in the parlour. She inspected the label on the bottle and read Barrow's note that was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Carson. "Oh, Mr. Barrow," she whispered with some sentimentality regarding the message inside. She wasn't sure of Charlie's reaction to Thomas's gesture; it seemed heartfelt, at least to her.

Lord knows Elsie could use a drink tonight, hours after the departure of the Monarchs and their high maintenance, uppity staff. But she didn't know what Charlie would favour. And so, replacing the note in its envelope and leaving them together with the spectacles on the desk, she carried the Port into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the hob, figuring if he needed a powder, tea would be the better mixer. Or even if Charlie wanted the Port instead, there would be the water bottle she'd promised him.

As the kettle heated, Elsie took down two pieces of stemware, tea cups, saucers and one small plate from the cupboard and placed them all beside their oft-used wooden tray - a wedding gift from Mrs. Crawley, now Baroness Merton - that accompanied them most evenings to the parlour and occasionally upstairs to their bedroom. She opened the biscuit tin, put eight of them - intending five for him and three for her - on the plate. She added a few chocolates then carried the plate and two embroidered napkins into the parlour, placing them on the end table between the settee and his chair. She noted now the chair was showing its age and would benefit from a restuffing and new upholstery. It would make a good project to address in the coming months.

Returning to the kitchen, Elsie checked the icebox, realizing - to no real surprise - a trip to Mr. Bakewell's was very much the project to tackle _tomorrow_. And then she leaned back against the sink, a soft yawn escaping her lips. After rubbing her eyes, Elsie took in the cozy little kitchen they'd made their own. Her print of the Lord's Prayer in Gaelic, framed, hung on the south wall to her left, his stuffed and framed rainbow trout on the wall opposite her now. Though she'd seen it for 30+ years, she didn't pay the fish any mention for decades. And then, of course, he brought it home with his other belongings when he emptied his pantry! As much as she didn't care for it in the kitchen, it was better there than in the parlour or heaven forbid their bedroom!

When the whistle began to blow, Elsie turned off the flame. She left the kettle be for now and returned to the parlour. Stopping at the desk again, she picked up the telephone asking to be connected to Lytham St. Annes to check in with Becky. She knew the only part that Charlie would mind about the call was that he wouldn't have the chance to say hello to his sister-in-law. Alas, Becky had already gone off to bed, the staff member explained pointing out the hour. She might not yet be asleep, would Elsie like her to check? No, she'd call back tomorrow.

Elsie didn't feel like reading and so she picked up her knitting, the first time in two weeks, returning to the sweater she'd started for Johnny's birthday present from his gran-gran. My word, another birthday around the corner. Where was the time going?

Some minutes later, a particularly loud pop from one of the oak logs startled Elsie and brought her attention to the fireplace. Mesmerized by the flames, she found herself relaxing. Soon, her knitting fell by the wayside and she opted to take out her hair pins, massaging her scalp in the process. Her thoughts shuttled over reflections of the last few days as she continued to stare at the fire. Specifically, she couldn't help but think of Anna. Elsie was continually impressed and proud of how she continued to do her job so very well, all while juggling being a wife and now mother. And she was a good one. Anna was good at everything she did at Downton but these last weeks were exceptional, punctuated by the plan she and Mr. Bates had not only devised but implemented on behalf of all the Downton staff. It was bloody brilliant! She chuckled aloud at that.

"Elsie?"

"Oh, Charlie. I didn't hear you come down."

"I see that, love." He came to a stop behind the settee and placed his left hand lovingly upon her left shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Elsie in turn placed her hand over his to keep it right there just a little bit longer. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye, albeit from a strange perspective. Elsie smiled up at him, "How are you feeling after your bath, Charlie? That is, beyond your hand being nice and warm?"

"Feeling limber enough to do this," as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

She closed her eyes and smiled appreciatively. He hovered there, his lips just a couple inches above her hairline. "Mmmm, I'm glad. And you smell nice too."

"Ah, then you don't smell the lineament."

Her eyes opened again, she replied, "No, I don't."

As Charlie made to straighten up, he noticed the plate of sweets to her right. Reaching for one with his right hand, his left forearm brushed against her soft plait. He frowned, telegraphing his dilemma; he would need to let go of her shoulder.

"Mr. Carson, are you trying to get at my biscuits?"

He halted and looked down at her again, "Elsie, you made that sound a little risqué."

She chuckled, "I assure you Charlie, after these last two weeks and last two days in particular, there'll be no risqué here tonight, ye daft man!" She patted his hand, the one still on her shoulder. "Shall we get something to drink to wash down those biscuits? We've a couple options in the kitchen."

Slowly, she stood and walked around to the end of the settee, offering him her hand, palm up, as he met her there. "I think I will hold your hand."

It was another of their little jokes, another remembrance of that day down at Brighton, one of the pivotal moments in their lives. He wrapped his thick warm fingers around hers, lifting the back of her hand to his lips. Charlie in his dark blue dressing gown over striped pyjamas and slippers, followed Elsie in her black dress and slippers toward the kitchen.

"Ooh, now I smell the lineament."

"Sorry, Elsie."

"No need to be sorry, it will help keep your back muscles loosened up."

"And legs," he mumbled.

Elsie didn't like the sound of that. She pushed their way through the hinged door to the kitchen. "Did you take a powder by chance?"

"No, I didn't want to mix it with wine or spirits and have an upset stomach on top of everything else."

"So you'd like something stronger than tea tonight?" He nodded. "Good. Because we had a delivery whilst you were upstairs." She pointed to the Port.

"What's this?"

"From Mr. Barrow, a gesture of appreciation for our efforts the last several days." Charlie picked up the bottle, attempting to read the label in the dim light of the kitchen. "It's not from his Lordship's supply is it?" She asked, teasingly.

He looked at her, doubtfully. A part of him still wouldn't put it past Thomas...Mr. Barrow. "No, I don't believe it is. But it's good nonetheless, very good, in fact. Would you like this tonight?"

"I believe we earned it, Charlie. Besides, Albert made a special delivery."

"Albert?" He seemed genuinely surprised at the lad's name.

"Aye, Albert. Whom else do you think Mr. Barrow would send out with a delivery at this hour? Father Christmas? Pharaoh?" He frowned at her sass. "Well, what Charlie?"

"It's just...did you answer the door for Albert looking like you do now?" He gestured from her feet to her plait.

She looked down the length of her body, confused. "Do I look improper to you, Mr. Carson?"

"Not exactly _improper_. Just not entirely proper - for someone like Albert to see."

"Ach, 'someone like Albert'? Improper to see this wee bit of my bare legs?"

"And ankles. And your plait." Elsie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her curmudgeon seemed to have returned, right as rain. Charlie clarified then, "It's just, I prefer to be the only one to see your bare ankles and plait down, Elsie. That's all." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

The blush to his cheeks won her over yet again and she stood on her tip toes to peck the left one. "Well, if it makes you feel better, Charlie, I don't recall that I let my hair down until _after _Albert left."

"That does make me feel better."

"Now, about that Port, Mr. Carson?"

"Right then, Mrs. Carson."

As he set about uncorking the Port, Elsie busied herself with digging out their hot water bottle and a clean dish towel. Together, they filled the bottle before Elsie wrapped the towel around as insulation. Elsie insisted on her carrying the tray, now full, herself. As she backed into the parlour and continued toward the settee, she instructed Charlie with his empty hands to read the note from Mr. Barrow. And so he stopped at the desk, put on his spectacles and read the few short sentences that acknowledged in a very un-Thomas-like fashion that he had nearly let down the family, and the Carsons who had trained him so well and diligently. It was Thomas's apology along with a pledge to do better tomorrow and the next day.

Putting down the note, Charlie made his way over to her, less than impressed. "I'd still like to wring his neck at times, Elsie. And what was with that rattled look on his face at breakfast this morning?" He dropped his spectacles atop the book on the end table with a hint of disgust.

"Ach, I don't know." She had moved one of the throw pillows to in front of her, atop the low table. She then pat the seat beside her, making clear that she wanted Charlie to sit there rather than in his chair tonight. "But he looked happier, right after that, before their Majesties departed."

Charlie sat down gingerly before scooting himself back, "Whatever happened to prompt the turnaround in his mood, I wonder."

"And we'll never know, I'm sure. Here." She guided him back gently with her right hand whilst her left held the water bottle behind him at the junction between seat and backrest.

"Ahhhh. That's lovely, Elsie."

"Is it where you need it?"

He closed his eyes, thinking. "Maybe an inch higher." She made the requested adjustment. "Ahh, that's it," he sighed contently. "Thank you, my dear."

"Never by halves, even with regard to a water bottle!" She chuckled before proceeding to pour out two glasses of Port for them. She handed Charlie his and the plate of biscuits to balance on his knee. As she sat back beside him and put her feet up on the pillow-topped table, her dress rode up, revealing a few more inches of her legs. Charlie arched his eyebrows, he didn't recall her ever doing that before.

"To us!" Elsie raised her glass in a toast as she leaned in for a kiss.

He happily obliged her, "To us!"

They both sipped the Port that was as warming on the inside as their togetherness was on the outside. As Charlie switched his glass to his left hand in order to put his right arm around Elsie's shoulders, encouraging her to relax into his side, he nodded down to the plate of biscuits. As she settled against him, munching on the first of her biscuits, it was her turn at contentment.

When Elsie suddenly realized he was uncharacteristically not eating any of the sweets and asked why, he acknowledged it was because he didn't have a free hand. And so she held a biscuit up to his mouth for him to bite into. And soon, when she lifted the second half up, his tongue inadvertently touched her fingertip ever so slightly and briefly. He waggled his eyebrows and smiled broadly as he proceeded to chew on his sweet treat. "Oh behave, you rascal, you!" She said as she leaned away to playfully swat his chest, her hand landing where his dressing gown overlapped itself.

The change in perspective caused her to see something she hadn't noticed before. She leaned closer and had him turn his head away slightly.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You've a hair sprouting from your ear." She put his spectacles on once again and then turned toward him to pluck the hair with her bare fingers.

"Ow!" It hurt enough that his arm retracted from the top of the settee to cover the same ear now.

Elsie held out the pad of her index finger for him to see the offending 1/4" hair and follicle that now rested there. "And to think you served the King and Queen of England like that! Makes Mr. Molesley's curtsy seem like nothing a'tall!" She burst into laughter as Charles rolled his eyes. He'd never forget _that_ embarrassment as long as he lived.

"And you! To think _you_ met a young footman at the door with your hair down and legs bare!"

"I already told you, Charlie, my hair was _not_ down when Albert came to the door." She bit into her last biscuit now.

"But your legs _were_ bare."

"All of 5 inches above my ankles," she agreed wiping a crumb from her mouth.

"_And_ your ankles."

"Aye, _and_ my ankles," she found his little hang up ridiculous.

Charlie took another sip of his Port. "If only _I'd_ have seen your bare legs and ankles when _I_ was a young footman. Why I'd be a granddad now, I'm certain. Likely many times over," he speculated proudly.

"Balancing a bairn on one knee, a plate of biscuits on the other, Mr. Carson?"

He sat up a little straighter then, jutted his chin out too as he nodded and gestured generally to the area behind them, "A couple of the older ones playing back yonder, and –"

"And?! You're sounding pretty sure of yourself there, Charlie!"

"As I was saying, Elsie…And one in your arms, latched onto his bottle, looking up in wonderment at his Gran's beauty." He winked then.

"Flatterer!" She suggested he eat another biscuit, one that he might feed himself this time.

Their conversation began to revisit particular moments in the Monarchs' visit beginning with their arrival. "The Dowager looked older to me, more so when she stumbled standing up. Did you happen to think so too, Elsie?"

"I think it was a ploy by the Old Bat." He winced. She knew he didn't like for her to refer to the Family's matriarch that way; he knew his displeasure over such behaviour wouldn't stop Elsie. "Imagine her boasting to others in your blessed Peerage book about receiving a hand from the King, himself."

As much as Charlie wanted to counter her, she had a point. He couldn't fully put it out of the realm of possibilities.

In another shock to his views of propriety, Elsie next asked him about Lady Maud '_Bagpuss_.'

Yes, after Elsie had shared with him the Royal guest list and before he was roped back to the Abbey by Lady Mary, he'd inadvertently shared with her the moniker he remembered hearing the Dowager use one night at a family dinner, years ago. Elsie assured him she'd not uttered the name to anyone else; after all, their policy was what happens at the Love Nest _stays_ at the Love Nest. Besides, she could care less about the Queen's Lady-in-Waiting really, it was just that she seemed nice enough and Elsie liked that she was so especially kind to Lucy, her Ladies Maid.

They spoke some more, about what all happened - downstairs and upstairs - once their charges had regained control of the house and raised their glasses in another toast. Gesturing to the fire, Charlie asked if she was up for another log to be added or if he should let it be, presumably in favour of heading upstairs to bed soon. Elsie vetoed more wood and so they quietly watched the dwindling embers.

She had cuddled up closer, her feet now tucked under her on the settee. With her left elbow draped over the backrest, she absentmindedly combed her fingers through the soft, damp locks on the back of his head; he had washed the pomade out as she'd requested. Silence and togetherness engulfed them, in the house they'd made into a home - a Love Nest, indeed.

Eventually, when the glow had all but disappeared inside the fireplace, Elsie broke their silence, "I'm ready, Charlie."

"Alright, love. I'm ready for bed too, any time." He made to stand only she laid her hand on his forearm stopping him.

"I'm ready to retire."

"As I just said I am."

"No, Charlie. Not 'retire' as in go to bed, 'retire' as in stop working. At Downton."

He was shocked and it took him a moment to admit even that before he wondered aloud what prompted this. Was she seeing the Royal visit as a matter of going out on top? Her own career pinnacle as it were?

"Not exactly. More that Anna demonstrated something to me these last days." She reminded him of the leadership role that Anna stepped up to yesterday. And how Downton shone as a result - in the eyes of no less than the King and Queen of England! Daisy had stepped up too these last several days, but that was another story, for Mrs. Patmore to come to terms with. Elsie said her peace and then paused, making sure she'd communicated all the points that had filled her head. "Anna's ready," was her simple conclusion.

He'd studied Elsie throughout this little monologue of hers. There was no wringing of the hands, no nibbling of her lip. No, she was sure and clear.

"What do you think, Charlie?"

"Since when does it matter what I think?" He chuckled.

"Tosh, mo ghaol. You know it matters." She reached over and tugged his pyjama collar closed.

He took a moment to choose his words carefully, cleared his throat and then softly said something that wasn't a question, rather a statement. "And you're ready, too."

She nodded.

"Elsie, since you're ready, I assure you I am ready as well! Aside from when you come home to eat luncheon with me, the days are long and rather lonely. I'd much prefer to have you nearby, forever and always, to have and to hold…", his voice trailed off.

She was smiling now though her eyes were warding off tears. "It'll be a different life, Charlie, it really will." The words were no sooner out of her mouth than one tear fell loose. As she moved to wipe it away, his thumb was there taking care of it instead. His palm and fingers wrapped around the gentle curve of her beautiful face, his fingertips coming to rest against her soft hair as his thumb continued to stroke her cheek.

"I know, Elsie, better than anyone. Elsie, love, when you were uncertain about the terms I wanted in our marriage, I told Mrs. Patmore I was bursting with pride that you'd agreed to be my wife. That I wanted us to live as closely as two people can, for the time that remains to us on earth." Again, he chose his words carefully as his own eyes began to water. "Right this moment, I've never been more proud, more happy. Your retiring will allow us to live even more closely. I love you, Elsie Carson."

"And I love you, Charlie. Forever and always, to have and to hold…you're mine!"


End file.
